


Rat Fink

by GremlinMan



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Familiars, Loss of Rat, M/M, Mutant, Mutant Rat, loss of baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 19:56:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GremlinMan/pseuds/GremlinMan
Summary: so I've been working on this on and off for 12 days lol





	Rat Fink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deniigiq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/gifts).
  * Inspired by [bow to his greatness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839683) by [deniigiq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq). 



> so I've been working on this on and off for 12 days lol

Throckmorton HATES all forms of collars with every atom in his small, weird body. It did not matter what size. It did not matter what shape, or material. He would scream. All night. And knock shit over. And eat through anything and everything. It got so bad, his neighbor called the police once. 

 

All collars are sacrilege. 

 

Never in his life had Peter been so thankful for the local pet store’s return policy. All the employees knew him by name, and he’d memorized each one’s “I’m sorry you have a hellbeast for a pet but please buy a collar and get out” expression. Except Mari because Mari was a  _ saint  _ and never gave him such a look. 

 

She did, however, give him the solution to his rat problem during a rather long winded story about her 7th cat, whose name was Bean, who also had a deep, primal loathing of collars. The solution? A harness. 

 

Peter thought this was brilliant for two reasons. 

 

  1. It wasn’t a collar
  2. He didn’t have to buy 3 collars



 

He might have cried the first time he put the damn thing on and his stupid rat didn’t immediately start summoning the actual devil to eviscerate him. 

 

He bought a black harness and bought a tag and got ‘Morty’ engraved on it, along with his phone number. He might have cried a little while doing so, but Mari was supportive. She thought Morty was an adorable name and Peter didn’t have the heart to tell her what it was short for. 

 

And thus, the great collar escapade was resolved. This, however, was only the prequel to his next problem. 

 

His oh-so-merciful boss, Mr. Anthony Stark himself, decided to send Peter to a conference. In  _ California,  _ which was objectively the  _ worst  _ state for multiple reasons, the least of which was that California had  _ stolen  _ Matt.

 

More importantly, however, the rat. He could not ask a regular pet sitter to watch his  three-headed rat . He could not take his three-headed rat on the plane. He could not ask his neighbors to watch his three-headed rat. 

 

Who  _ could  _ he ask? Well, it was a short-ass list. 

 

May was going camping with some friends. She offered to take Throckmorton with her, but the thought gave him anxiety and he politely turned her down.

 

Wade would  _ not  _ pick up the phone when Peter called, and he would  _ not  _ open the door. Instead, he screamed through that No He Couldn’t Watch The Monster, He Had A Cat And Also A Job Lined Up And Also Really Didn’t Fucking Like It. Peter called bullshit, but whatever. Moving on. 

 

Matt, who was in New York for a conference, emphatically did NOT open the door. He could hear both of Throckmorton's little hearts beating and he could hear all three heads breathing and had decided that he wanted nothing to do with whatever God-Forsaken monstrosity Peter had drug out from the sewer or a dumpster or his apartment this time. 

 

Foggy emphatically agreed with Matt because he didn't want to pay for another destroyed hotel room. 

 

Peter called them cowards, crossed them off his babysitter list, and moved on. 

 

Angel and Louis were obviously out, seeing as they despised his familiar. 

 

But Miles, oho. There’s a thought.

* * *

Miles was absolutely down. He consulted Ganke. Ganke was also absolutely down. Peter, in the spirit of fairness, reminded them both that it was, in fact, a  _ three-headed rat _ , not a puppy or whatever. 

 

This did not discourage the baby scienclings. Oh no, this was gas on the proverbial fire. They were  _ pumped.  _ Absolutely  _ psyched  _ to watch a mutated demon from hell for two and a half days. 

 

Peter, less so, but hey! There’s the hellbeast dealt with. Now, time for the hell _ state _ . He packs his shit, leaves his rat with a pair of overly excited 9 year olds, and hops on a plane.

 

First class. 

 

By a man in a dark, tailored suit with a briefcase and a woman with a pencil and a deadly cell phone. 

 

He, with his ratty (ha) shoes and “borrowed” sweatshirt does not belong. He misses home already. 

* * *

Miles and Ganke got along with Throckmorton like a house and fire. Or a genetically modified creature and the sewers of New York. Which was to say, disastrously for those around them. 

 

Miles loved him with all his heart. He gave him  _ so  _ many pets. So many treats. 

 

Friday went fine. The rat screamed for Peter for two hours, but that was fine. Most of the others in their dorm had gone home for the weekend anyway. 

 

Saturday, though. The morning went fine. Throckmorton, apparently, returned love to all those who loved him, which basically translated into him bringing weird gifts to leave on Mile’s bed in his dorm. Said weird gifts included a small pile of bones, a strange collection of insects, and stolen pieces of other student’s homework, depending on which head was feelin’ the love. 

 

Miles refused to throw any of it away, at least until the rat was gone. 

 

The problem, however, came around noon. Miles and Ganke went out to eat lunch at a local deli, and when they got back they found the door cracked, and the rat gone. 

 

They lost him. A cat sized three headed rat just up and wandered out the door. Ganke said it was Miles who left it open, Miles said, Nuh-uh, no way, and they argued, but in the end, what really mattered was that the rat was  _ gone  _ in  _ New York. Spiderman’s  _ rat. His  _ familiar.  _

 

Miles was going to lose his goddamn mind. They searched high and low in the dorm, just to make sure, before heading out and hitting the streets. He’s the size of a cat and has three heads, along with a bad attitude, so Miles thought he would be pretty easy to find. 

 

He was wrong. Throckmorton, the rat king, had not earned his name by being easy to catch. He went to Peter’s apartment. He sulked around in alleys. He even went out that night in his suit to hunt for him, but the mutant was nowhere to be found. 

 

He finally returned to the dorm at around four in the morning, ratless and disheartened, his phone dead.

* * *

Iris, who has been working at SI for maybe three months now, knows a mutant when she sees one. And that, hoo boy,  _ that  _ is a mutant. Three heads and innumerable blinking, squinting eyes. 

 

Her mama didn't raise no coward, so she lures it with, first, a bight of her lunch, then a piece of candy (from the stash she keeps for her desk neighbor's kids, when they visit, and also for herself, when she's cranky) and eventually the  _ wrapper  _ of said candy. 

 

Then, cooing gently, she scoops it up, stands quickly and strides across the lab to deposits it abruptly on her lab manager's desk. "Have fun, ma'am," she says, scooting out the door as quickly as possible. 

 

Saanvi cringes as the beast hisses. “Hey there little… um. Okay, no. C’mere, this is a task for the big bad boss.” 

 

She then proceeds, in the way of Iris, to take the creature up all seven million floors to Mr. Stark’s office. She then proceeds back down all seven million floors to Mr. Stark's lab where she sets it down on a large metal table and hauls ass out. 

 

She almost makes it, too, before he turns off his music. 

 

“Saanvi. What is that.” 

 

She stops abruptly, her back turned, spine rigid. She turns slowly back to Mr. Stark. “Um. One of the interns, Iris, brought it to me. I don’t know what it is. I, uh, figured you’d have a better idea.” 

 

He sighs and dismisses her, picking up a screwdriver to poke the rat with. It shrieks fairly demonically and bites the metal, denting it. 

 

“O…kay.” He sighs, feeding the rat a few crumbs and, weirdly enough, a wrapper and pretending to ignore it. Like most animals, once it knows attention it craves it. It crawls over to him, climbs into his hands, and screams with all three heads. He feeds it a dirty napkin and a piece of an orange. Once it’s snacking, he picks it up and turns it around in his hands. It only screams a little. 

 

It’s at this point that he finds the harness and, subsequently, the tag. Engraved on one side is ‘Morty’, and on the other…

 

Of course. Who else would buy a neat little black harness and pay to engrave a tag but his own dumbass employee? He slams his head down. The rat hisses, but is quickly distracted by the literally trash heap that is Tony’s lab. 

 

Okay, so Peter’s out of town. That means that he probably had someone watch the rat. The list of people that would A. Be willing to do it and B. Are available is short, so it shouldn’t be too hard to narrow down the rat-sitter. 

 

It’s not May or Wilson. It’s not Murdock who, he learned from May, is in town with Nelson for a conference or something. It’s not either of the powerless copycat Spideys, or the Daredevil copycat. 

 

Which leaves…

* * *

The kid, Miles, shows up about half an hour later, roommate in tow, spewing apologies, to collect his rat. 

 

Saanvi and the intern, Iris, both showed up to see what absolute idiot shows up to collect a cat-sized three-headed rat. Upon learning, through the rush of words from Miles, that it belongs to local disaster Peter Parker, they share a  _ look  _ and scuttle away. 

 

Tony finds himself kind of curious about that, but he doesn’t pay it too much mind. 

 

“Watch it better, kid,” he says, patting Miles awkwardly on the shoulder. “It probably won’t show up here again and I don’t want it getting killed. Peter will never,  _ ever  _ forgive you.” 

 

Miles looks a little sick at that, but he thanks him and tenderly carries the beast away, his friend trailing like a nervous satellite. 

 

Tony drifts back to his lab, fingers twitching as he considers the weird little rat. Ideas, ideas…

* * *

Peter, when he arrives back late Sunday, collects his rat with no small relief after dropping his shit off at home. Miles recounts losing him and then finding him at SI, in the semi-capable hands of Mr. Tony Stark himself. 

  
  


“You little bastard,” Peter tells the rat fondly. It squeaks in delight and scampers up his arm to wrap around his shoulders. 

 

He parades back to his crappy apartment, familiar proudly displayed on his shoulders. And when he gets home, if he feeds the little hell beast a little more than usual, well. 

 

That’s no one’s business but his own. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> uh I have a bonus bit where I wrote out a different scene for Tony getting Throckmorton, hit up my tumblr @gremlin-man-bastard-child to see that if anyone cares lol 
> 
>  
> 
> anyway, thanks to @deniigi for all the hilarious and brilliant content!


End file.
